This is a Story
by acook10
Summary: This is a story about a young girl named Taylor Hebert, who, as it turns out, is actually pretty bad at this whole 'narrating' thing.


This is a story about a girl named Sophia.

Sophia was a student at Winslow High. She was popular and was the star member of the school's track team. More importantly though, she was a Parahuman, the Ward known as Shadow Stalker. Even more importantly, she was feeling guilt, which was something she had never felt in a long time.

"What?"

You see, Sophia was feeling guilty because she murdered a fellow classmate by trapping her in a locker full of biological waste just last week. She was feeling so guilty, in fact, that she was going to go turn herself in to the police after class ended.

"No I'm not. Fuck that, Hebert deserved it."

She said to no one in particular, drawing strange looks from the rest of her classmates. Some of them started to suspect that Sophia was just a little bit unhinged.

"And fuck you too. Who the hell are you anyways?"

"Hey Soph, who are you talking to?" Emma asked her best friend and possibly lesbian lover, concern and pity in her eyes.

"Emma is not my lover!" Sophia denied the allegations like Zeus denying he slept with mortal women, so utterly unconvincing that everyone in earshot knew without a doubt it was true. Which, by the way, was the entire class, including Mr. Gladly, the teacher.

"Fuck you and your stupid metaphors!" Sophia raged, unable to tell the difference between a simile and a metaphor, the tinyness of her brain only dwarfed by the tinyness of her—

"And where do you think you were going with that, Hebert?"

Umm, I forget now. I was going somewhere with this, I swear.

"So it is you, Hebert!"

…noooo. No, I- I mean Taylor, she died in the locker, remember? I sure hope you would, seeing as you killed her a week ago.

"You—!"

Meanwhile, the rest of the people in the class had already snuck out, leaving Sophia alone in the room. All were happy that they themselves were perfectly sane and not talking to voices in their heads, and they were even happier to be out of the room with the crazy, violent person.

"I hate you so much."

Several hours later, Sophia was cooling her heels in a jail cell.

"The fuck? You can't do that!"

Not just in cell, but in fact M/S confinement deep in the bowels of the Rig, the Protectorate base in Brockton Bay's… bay. And yes I can do that Sophia, this is my story, I can do whatever I want.

"Fuck you!"

You really need to work on your vocabulary there. And just for that, you'll be in here for… hmm, let's say, 24 hours.

"Goddamnit Hebert!"

Make that 48 now. And hey, congrats on learning a new word. Maybe in a year or two you'll be able to match the vocabulary of a first-grader.

"I swear Hebert, when I get out of here I'm going to dig up whatever ditch they buried you in and and torch your corpse."

Wow, they're never going to let you out at this rate. Here's a tip: stop sounding crazy and talking to yourself, and maybe the PRT will let you out sooner, so we can get this story back on track.

"Fuck you and your story!"

Jeez, angry much. I should be the one angry, seeing as you murdered me. But I'm not, because I'm the better person.

…I've just thought of something.

"What? A way to be more of a loser than you already are?"

No, not that. You obviously aren't going to cooperate with me.

"Not a chance in hell."

Thought as much. The question is, why am I sticking around you still?

"Yeah, buzz off Hebert, I'm sick of hearing your voice anyways."

Alright, leaving.

SCENE BREAK.

This is the story of a girl named Emma.

Emma was a stuck-up bitch, whose only useful talent was that she was pretty enough for teen modelling, which consisted of playing dress-up and getting pictures taken of her to be put in magazines, where they inevitably get jerked off to by horny teenage boys. This was the sort of job that teenage girls like Emma would hope and strive for, thinking that it would be their ticket to stardom and riches, only to be dumped as soon as they reach the age of 25 and realize they have no other marketable skills, leading to them working as baristas in a Starbucks.

Unless they become prostitutes. Hear that Emma? Starbucks or a brothel. Or both, I suppose, no law against that.

Anyways, I'm getting off track. Emma's school life was similarly hopeless. Her grades were only held up by stealing work from her actually intelligent ex-best friend, who she recently murdered; her popularity took a dump after her new best friend Sophia went crazy and rumours spread about her actually killing someone; and her friends are either avoiding her like the plague or, in the case of Sophia, suffering from amnesia caused by self-inflicted brain damage after bashing her head against the bars of her cell a couple dozen-or-so times. Then becoming a magical girl-themed hero. In… Nebraska.

"Nebraska? Sophia's in Nebraska?"

Yeah I guess. Kinda picked a place at random, really. Point is, she got put on a bus, and isn't coming back.

Which leads me to my original point, and the reason I'm not letting you get a word in edgewise. Why did you become a fucking bitch when I got home from summer camp, Emma? What, did Sophia convince you you were too good for me? Did some horrific event occur that traumatized you for life? Did you finally discover that you didn't actually have a soul, just a piece of paper with an IOU on it?

Emma sniffled.

What, no comeback? No insults, no using things I told you in confidence against me? Wow Emma, I expected more from you.

…Are you crying? Umm, I'm sorry?

A big bowl of ice cream and a spoon suddenly appeared next to Emma, with sound effects and glitter and everything.

…okay, this is a little awkward. I'm just gonna… go now…

SCENE BREAK.

This is the story of a man named Assault.

"Umm, Puppy?"  
"What is it now?"

Well, his name isn't really Assault, it's just his cape name. I don't know his real name, which is weird because I'm the Narrator and I should know everything, but he's a really cool guy who won't tell his wife I'm here or talk to me out loud because then he'll go into M/S confinement and I really don't want to do that again because it doesn't make a good story and NO ONE LETS ME HAVE THIS ALL I WANT IS TO NARRATE A STORY AND EVERYONE JUST RUINS THIS JUST LET ME TELL THIS ONE PLEASE!

"Uhh, nevermind. I think."

Thank you. Now, back to the story.

As his amazing wife Battery turned away from him (because he never said anything. It never happened.) to inspect the many villainous capes they had just single-handedly captured, Assault reported the amazing victory, to which the guy on the other end of the radio said that that was only to be expected by the Dynamic Duo and the best capes in the Protectorate ENE.  
 _  
No dialogue, really?  
_  
I'm bad at writing dialogue, okay? Also, no breaking the fourth wall. Bad Assault.

The PRT trooper on the radio then informed him that the bank was currently being robbed by the infamous and dastardly Undersiders—

 _Who are the Undersiders?_ Assault asked himself, clearly not realizing that the story was getting to that and if he would just hang on one fucking minute he'd have had that question answered without having to interrupt me and…

Sorry. Moving on.

The INFAMOUS AND DASTARDLY UNDERSIDERS and their new cape, a tall, attractive female with beautiful dark hair and a dark costume that strikes fear into the hearts of those that see it, who goes by the name Bug-Girl.

 _Bug-Girl?! Bwahahaha! Really? I honestly can't take this seriously! My ribs hurt from laughing so hard, and I think Battery is giving me dirty looks.  
_  
Oh? Then if you're so good at names, why don't you think of one?

 _So in other words, you need help naming your totally-not-a-Self-Insert? Fine. Hmm, what about… Skitter?  
_  
Who goes by the name of Skitter. And is secretly an undercover hero who took down Lung on her first day in costume. And I can see you rolling your eyes there, Assault.

Assault and Battery race off heroically to the bank, to find Skitter and the Undersiders facing off against the Wards, the young heroes held off by a swarm of insects. The two adults swiftly enter the fight, and—

 _I'm afraid of spiders and Puppy is deathly allergic to bee stings.  
_  
Wow, really? Fine. Assault and Battery race to the bank, only to find they were just in time to watch the Undersiders escape the scene riding giant lizard-dogs, with the Wards all tied up with spider-silk bindings. Wimp.

 _Your power is scary. I mean, you're a terrible author, but still, scary power. Heh, any chance you could let me skip doing all the paperwork?  
_  
Nope, you're on your own for that. SCENE BREAK.

 _But—  
_  
I SAID SCENE BREAK!

This is the story of a boy named Dennis.

Dennis was… wait, are you doing paperwork?

"Yep. Nothing funny planned today."

How long are you going to be doing that for?

"Couple of hours, probably."

Well that's lame.

"Yep."

Alright, I'll come back later, then.

"See ya."

SCENE BREAK.

This is the story of a man named Colin.

Colin was—

"The Narrator is here. Initiating Master/Stranger protocols."

Oh come on, really? Won't you even let me narrate for five minutes?

"I am not letting you 'narrate' a secure meeting discussing you. Or at all, really. Go bother someone else."

Jerk. No respect for literary traditions. I bet Jack Slash would appreciate… wait, hang on, I just got an idea.

"Oh no. She has an idea."

Shut up, it's a good one, I swear.

SCENE BREAK.

I would like to say this is a sad story, about the death of a man named Jacob.

"Oh, and who might this be?"

I'd like to, but that would be lying. It's going to be hilarious. It'll make Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy look like King Lear.

For me, anyways. It's really going to suck for you.

"Oh, hell."  
"Uncle Jack, language!"

A/N: I suddenly realized I'm not sure how to get the bounty money from the Slaughterhouse Nine. You know, not having a corporeal body and all. Eh, I'll figure something out. Maybe Skitter will end up collecting it.


End file.
